


You Can't Play The Piano

by Gayer_Yet_Gayer (IronicAppreciation)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, It Sucks, It's bad, M/M, Sadstuck, because spoilers:, don't read it, everything i write is kinda emo, heavily implied bullshit, i was sad, idk - Freeform, kinda emo, sorry - Freeform, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:49:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8510509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronicAppreciation/pseuds/Gayer_Yet_Gayer
Summary: Brooding. All the fucking brooding





	

==>You can’t play the piano.

 

Your name is…not important. You suddenly doubt that it ever has been. And you don’t know what you’re doing.

Correction. You know exactly what you’re doing; you’re sitting and gawking pointedly at a grand piano, as though expecting it to play itself. What a great use of your time.

There’s sheet music, old, coffee stained, crumpled sheet music written in almost inscrutable chicken scratch sitting casually atop the instrument. You can’t make out the notes.

Not that it would do you any good if you could.

After all,

You can’t play the piano.

The massive, bulky thing belonged to…someone, probably. You can’t remember. It’s probably not important. Then again, none of this is all that important.

Because, like you said,

You can’t play the piano.

You can, however, compose shitty stories to be produced into shitty films. You can also stare at inanimate objects and waste your time. You can also also smoke.

She says it’s going to burn up your lungs and kill you one day.

You tell her that you’d be lucky if it were a cigarette that killed you.

However,

You can’t play the piano.

So why are you standing here and staring at this gargantuan instrument? It’s not going to do you any good. You’re not admiring it. You’re not thinking about anything in particular. So what in the ever loving fuck are you doing?

You find yourself pondering this a lot.

You wonder whenever it’s too windy and cold and frigid outside. You hate the cold.

But you always go stand in it anyways.

Why?

You can’t play the piano.

You wonder whenever you write another godawful screenplay and think to yourself, “no one in their right mind would ever enjoy this.”

But you always publish it anyways.

Why?

You can’t play the piano.

You wonder whenever you see blue. Blue anything. Blue skies, blue water, blue clothes, blue shoes, blue bikes, blue eyes. It’s a nice color, you guess, although you don’t especially care.

But you always go out of your way to stare at it anyways.

Why?

You can’t play the piano.

You’ve never even wanted to play the piano.

You never thought to yourself that learning to play would be even remotely useful in your life.

Piano music isn’t even all that great.

So why are you crying?

Why are you sitting at an immense piano and sobbing onto delicate keys that are probably worth more individually than you are as a person?

Why are you wearing fucking sunglasses indoors?

Why are you holding an ugly-ass stuffed rabbit?

Why do you suddenly want to hear that illegible chicken scratch sheet music more than you want to gouge out your own heart?

Is it normal to want to gouge out your own heart?

That one’s easy.

That’s a no.

So why?

…

God, your head hurts.

 

==>Get the fuck up and stop wasting everybody’s time

Time.

Time.

You don’t have enough time.

There’s never enough time.

Fuck time. 

Fuck it.

Fuck it so hard, it won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

You hate time.

You hate it.

You can’t help but feel like it’s wronged you.

You can’t help but feel a lot of things.

Most of them don’t make sense.

You don’t understand much.

You don’t know much.

You just know that

You can’t play the piano.

And it’s fucking **_K I L L I N G_ **  you.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I'm working on goner pls


End file.
